Ere the Winter Storms Begin
by BlackEyedGirl
Summary: The earth is burned and cracked. It wasn't always like this. Merlin, Arthur, Gwen, Morgana - backwards through the years


**Title:** Ere the Winter Storms Begin  
**Fandom:** Merlin BBC  
**Characters/Pairings:** Merlin, Arthur, Morgana, Gwen, with nods towards OT4. (Implied Gwen/Lancelot and possibly Merlin/Arthur and Gwen/Morgana)  
**Rating:** PG-13 for angst  
**Length:** 1,600 words  
**Disclaimer:** Belongs to the BBC  
**Spoilers:** General show/bits of the legend  
**Warnings:** Implied future character death.  
**Summary:** The earth is burned and cracked. It wasn't always like this.

* * *

The seasons pass.

Even the trees know this. They do not know the day-to-day tripping of time, but they know the way the seasons flow unendingly one to the other. Trees flower and fruit, and turn brown and then grow again.

This year there is no water. It is meant to be the end of the growing season - the harvest - but there is no water and the world is ready to burn.

It was not always this way.

Once, the land was green. The fields were bright gold and the trees were heavy with fruit. The King sat beside the Queen, and Merlin with them. But the beginning of the end had been there too.

_

*

"Merlin."

"Sire." Merlin manages a half-bow.

Arthur frowns at him. "You really shouldn't- We have guests."

"And I shouldn't respect my king?"

"You're supposed to be my chief sorcerer."

"I _am _your chief sorcerer."

"Well… Try and look like it, would you? It wouldn't hurt to-"

Merlin interrupts, "This is just a harvest celebration, Arthur, it's not supposed to be another opportunity to demonstrate your-"

Someone called, 'Your majesty' and Arthur turned away.

Gwen – Queen Guinevere now, always – is far across the room talking to someone else. A knight. Lancelot, probably; Merlin sees her push back dark hair from a man's face. Arthur isn't looking for her, he's dealing with the nobleman who asked for his attention.

Taxes. It's always taxes now. For the campaigns, and the good of the kingdom. The fruits of their country's labours lie over the tables, spoiling in the heat.

_

*

It wasn't always like this.

It is a damp, cold autumn evening. The army is encamped near the border, and Arthur and Merlin have gone to scout.

The storm which has been threatening all day finally cracks the air. Merlin yelps.

Arthur looks at him, unsurprised but still amused, and shoves him towards the shelter of the tree.

"Isn't this the first place the lightning will _hit_?" Merlin asks.

"It's a small tree, Merlin."

"Yes?"

"Just stay there and be dry. Meanwhile I will stand here and be both sodden and hungry. Never let it be said that your king demands too much of you."

Merlin tries to laugh but shivers instead. He was thin already, and the protracted military campaign has taken a lot out of him. He is on edge all the time now, wound up tight like he has a secret. It's been like that ever since Morgana- Well, Arthur had hoped the travel would take his mind off it.

There is a town, a little way away. It is a small patch of light on the horizon, a bonfire to celebrate the harvest. Arthur thinks about running for the warmth and the food it could provide.

Merlin stretches out a clammy hand and pulls Arthur under the tree with him. It's a small thing; they could make a circle around it with ease. He stands by Merlin anyway, though it gives less shelter from the elements.

Water drips down Merlin's nose, and he scrunches it up. He looks above his head, and grins. Merlin reaches for the branch. "Sire," he says, and presents Arthur with an apple. "Never let it be said that your servant doesn't provide for you."

"My land provides for me," Arthur says. "My servant simply facilitates." He pauses. "Thank you."

The lightning flashes, travelling away from them. Merlin smiles at Arthur, and his eyes light golden as the apple.

_

*

This will be the last dance she attends.

The harvest festival, Arthur's first, and the land has unfolded itself to him. No one will go hungry this night.

The fire is burning down to the embers. Arthur dances with Gwen in front of it, and then smiles – a little drunk – and takes Morgana's hand as well. They turn in circles, wild with the flame and the music.

Merlin is watching them; Morgana can see him on every turn. She catches his hand.

He protests, dragging all four of them out of shape for a long confused moment. But Merlin relents, and follows the music and the other three. He always does.

They wind about each other like a courtly dance they've always known the steps to. It's the rhythm of the earth and the stars, they four held between the elements in an imperfect balance. They've known how to do this forever; this will be the first and last time.

It is enough for now but Morgana knows it will not always be like this. This is her last dance - she has seen that already. She enjoys the night, and the end of the summer flowers blooming in the warm air. Merlin smiles and holds her hand more tightly.

_

*

It is the last good day before the winter Uther dies, and it is the first day of harvest. The villagers have been in the fields all day and now there is food on the table.

Merlin is hiding under a table and Gwen finds him.

"Umm," she says.

"Sssh," he replies.

"All right." Gwen climbs under the table with him; most of the revellers are so drunk they will not notice. She sits beside him and asks, "Why are we under the table?"

"There is cider," he explains. "And one of Arthur's knights-"

"Ah."

Gwen reaches her hand cautiously to the surface of the table. There had been fresh bread and cheese, before she had stopped to investigate why Merlin's foot had been visible under there.

Morgana ducks her head into their hiding place. She has the bread. "Not in trouble, are we?"

"No." Merlin shakes his head emphatically. "Avoiding it, my lady."

Morgana smiles at them both, takes hold of her skirts, and slips under the table too.

After that, of course, it is not long before Arthur finds them. "We are supposed to be celebrating," he protests. "A successful harvest and a successful battle. Everything aligned in our favour. And you three crawl away like-"

"We have done enough celebrating, Arthur," Morgana says. "And it is quiet here."

"Oh all right," he grumbles. "But I'm bringing my wine."

_

*

Merlin does not think he will be missed. Arthur was with a nobleman's daughter, and anyway Arthur is not pleased with him today.

He meets Gwen on his way out; she's carrying a similar burden to the one he brings. She smiles at him and links her arm in his. Their cloaks tangle in the cold night.

An early frost and a blighted harvest. The castle celebrates what was rescued – they are not all so lucky. Gaius is treating the sick in the villages, but what they need as much as his wisdom is a little something in their stomachs. The castle will not miss it. They would waste as much in dropping it on the floor and leaving it to spoil on the tables.

Merlin and Gwen are welcomed warmly. It is a small offering, but shared out freely and accepted with grace. Merlin wishes he could do more. One day, perhaps. One day he will be able to hold off the advance of the winter, and command disease to pass by their fields of crops. But today this is what he can do.

He hears the voice first, the voice he will forever heed before all others. Arthur is saying, "Morgana, are you sure you saw them-? Women have the worst sense of direction you know-"

They are spotted.

Arthur looks imposing in the firelight; his sword glints. Morgana just glides past him. She passes a bottle of wine into the crowd and goes to find Gwen in the dancers.

Arthur says, "Merlin."

"Sire."

"Are you going to explain?"

"They wouldn't miss it. I swear, I didn't take anything that I didn't think was going to- Your people were starving, Arthur. Your land did not take all that it could – there was food enough spared but your people were- When you are king, you will not feast while your people go hungry. I know you won't. And there is-" For a moment, Merlin thinks that he could say magic and not end the world. But he is afraid. He says, "power, in the land. And in the king and the land. You will-"

"Yes, all right," Arthur says and smiles at Merlin. "You're very sure of that, are you? Of what kind of king I'm going to be?"

"Yes."

Arthur looks at him and after a long pause he says, "I'm glad. Now, I brought some of the feast down to you – I suppose you're going to want to share that too."

"If you don't mind."

"If I don't mind," Arthur mutters. "And what will you give me in return?"

"My service?" Merlin tries. "Everything in my power to give." He pauses for a moment of consideration. "And this apple." He hands the fruit to Arthur cheerfully. "Your land provides for you."

Arthur sighs, but there is warmth in his eyes when he polishes the apple on the hem of his shirt. He passes the sack of pilfered feast into the crowd, and then bites into the apple with a crunch. Morgana and Gwen come back to sit by them. The earth is solid underneath their feet; Merlin closes his eyes and feels out his way to the other places.

There is a tug on his arm. "Merlin," Arthur says. "What on earth are you dreaming about?"

The future, he thinks, will not always be like this. "Nothing," he says. "It doesn't matter now."

_

*

The wind rushes through the trees. It is too hot. Things will burn and they will die. The trees have long roots and long memories. The heat will recede, it will be cold again. Life will be buried in the dark soil and kept safe until it is ready to return. On the branch, the flower petals fall but the fruit will follow after. Everything dies and nothing dies forever. The magic waits.

* * *

FIN


End file.
